


Four Years Later

by flawedamythyst



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Clint Forgives Too Easily, M/M, Unrepentant Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 17:01:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14835620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: Bucky thought Clint would be better off without a long-distance relationship with a soldier who might not ever come back, so he wrote a coward's letter before disappearing from Clint's life into the Army.That was four years ago. Now he's been invalided out and is rebuilding his life in Brooklyn, he's going to have to face up to that decision.





	Four Years Later

Bucky had been telling himself that he wasn’t keeping an eye out for Clint. Just because this bar had been a favourite of his four years ago didn’t mean that he’d been anywhere near it since then. Besides, Bucky didn’t want to see him. If this hadn’t been the first time he’d been asked out for a drink by his new work colleagues, he’d have declined, just to avoid the risk of running into Clint.

Still, when he glanced around the bar and found himself meeting all-too-familiar blue eyes, he couldn’t stop his heart from leaping, or the little voice whispering _Finally!_ in the back of his mind.

Shit, no, this was _bad_. Bucky held his breath and hoped like hell that Clint would do them both a favour and pretend he hadn’t seen Bucky. Although, after how things had ended between them, he would be more than entitled to tip a drink over Bucky’s head or something.

God, he looked good though, even frozen with that look of complete disbelief on his face. Bucky had done his best to forget just how hot Clint was, how his biceps stretched out the sleeves of his t-shirts and his hair always managed to look like he’d just struggled out of bed after some very athletic activities. He was wearing purple, of course. Bucky had spent four years feeling his heart turn over every time he saw a guy wearing purple. Thankfully, that hadn’t been too often in a warzone.

Fuck, the guy had a bandaid on his chin. Why did that make Bucky’s heart melt so much?

He tried to drag his gaze away and back to the conversation going on around him so that he could start pretending this moment had never happened, but his eyes refused to move. They were too busily greedily taking in every detail, which meant Bucky saw the exact moment resolution took over Clint’s face and he started to stride over to Bucky.

Oh shit, apparently this was happening. Bucky was going to have to face up to the worst decision he’d ever made. Every fight-or-flight instinct he had (and that was a lot, these days. Sometimes it seemed like he was nothing _but_ fight-or-flight instinct) was sending off warning bells, but he made himself stand up, taking a step away from the table and facing Clint down as if he were a charging rhino.

Clint didn’t start with anger or accusations, though. He just ran his eyes over Bucky, not even pausing for a moment on his prosthetic, and said, “Did you ever think about calling me?” in a casual tone, as if they were already halfway through a conversation.

Bucky had thought of nothing else for pretty much every minute since he’d last seen Clint, but at the start he’d told himself he was doing the right thing, and then he was too much of a coward, and then...well. Seemed like a shitty thing to do, to only call after he’d gone through hell.

“Not sure what the point of that woulda been,” he said instead.

Clint let out a bitter laugh. “Sure, of course not. You didn’t see the point in any of it, right?”

Bucky felt himself twitch and hated himself for giving away his internal denial of that so easily. Clint’s eyes had always been sharper than he let people know, and from the tensing of his jaw, he’d not only seen the movement but he’d worked out exactly what it meant.

“Clint, I thought you were getting us drinks,” said a voice, and it took more effort than Bucky wanted to admit to drag his eyes away from Clint’s face to look at the guy who had come up behind him and rested a hand on the small of Clint’s back. “Did you seriously get distracted again?” He glanced over at Bucky and his eyes widened with recognition. “Oh shit, it’s you.”

Bucky glared at him with all the pent-up aggression that being blown up and losing his arm had left him with. “What the fuck’s that meant to mean?”

The guy held up both his hands defensively. “Oh hey, don’t get knotted up, just didn’t expect to actually meet the guy whose photo I’ve been staring at every time I open the fridge at Clint’s.”

Clint still had a photo of him up? Bucky turned his gaze on Clint, who had the grace to look embarrassed, although he also stared Bucky down as if daring him to comment.

“This is Bucky,” he said to the guy. “Bucky, this is Jack.”

Bucky shook his head. “Don’t care.” He glanced at the table of his new work colleagues, none of whom seemed to be paying any attention. “I’m kinda busy,” he added, hoping Clint would just fuck off, and take his new boyfriend with him.

The thought was like a knife in the gut, but it really shouldn’t have been. Of course Clint had a boyfriend, that was what Bucky had wanted for him, for him to have someone who was actually able to be there for him rather than on the other side of the world.

“You’re Clint’s primary, right?” said Jack, who was apparently incapable of taking a hint. “It’s good to meet you. I had no idea you were back in town.”

Bucky frowned at him. “Primary?” he repeated. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Ah…” said the guy, trailing off and then glancing at Clint. “I thought you said-”

“I said I had an open, long-distance relationship with the love of my life,” interrupted Clint, not taking his eyes off Bucky’s. “I also said it was kinda complicated and I didn’t want to get into details.”

Bucky gaped at him. “Love of your life?” he repeated weakly, then shook his head, because that wasn’t what he should be focusing on. “What the fuck, Clint? We’ve not been together for four years, why the fuck are you telling people we are?”

“What?” said Jack, but neither Clint nor Bucky were paying any attention to him.

“Because, you fucking asshole,” said Clint, “you left me a fucking bullshit letter rather than actually talking to me like an adult, and it was so fucking vague that there were at least two ways to take it. I decided to go with the one that meant I wasn’t getting my heart completely fucking shattered, just kinda cracked.”

Somehow, Bucky had forgotten just how much Clint could drive him nuts. “You read a Dear John letter and didn’t think it meant we were broken up?” he asked, incredulously.

“I read a rambling mess of self-recrimination and decided it meant you just wanted to put things on hold while you were away,” corrected Clint. “I read a letter that basically declared your love for me in every other word and figured that waiting for you wasn’t going to be completely without hope. I did tell Steve to tell you to to pass on that I didn’t see the point in pretending that I’d ever be happy with anyone else,” he added, pointedly.

Bucky winced.The first time Bucky had spoken to Steve after he’d gone away, Steve had tried to bring Clint up a couple of times, until Bucky flat out told him that if he ever mentioned Clint’s name again, he’d stop calling.

“I’da thought you’d get the hint after four years of silence,” he said.

Clint snorted. “Yeah, no. Breaking up with a guy by leaving a letter and then fucking off into the Army for four years is bullshit, and I refused to be part of it. If you wanna break up with me, you’ve gotta do it face-to-face.” He spread his arms in invitation. “So go for it.”

Bucky opened his mouth to do it, he really did, but he couldn’t make the words come out, not when he could see the core of vulnerability beneath Clint’s bluster and knew he was going to be hurting him by saying them and, shit, all the reasons he’d had for this four years ago didn’t apply anymore. He paused, voiceless.

“Okay, you know what?” said Jack into the silence. Bucky hadn’t even realised he was still there. “I feel like maybe I’m just gonna head home. Clint, you should probably wait a few days before you contact me again.”

He left without waiting for a response.

“Who even was that guy?” asked Bucky, because it seemed like much safer ground.

“Fuck buddy,” said Clint. “The one thing your letter seemed pretty clear on was that you didn’t want me to get lonely, so I figured you wouldn’t mind me coming to an arrangement with someone.”

Bucky shook his head. “You were meant to find someone who could make you happy,” he said, “not just scratch an itch.”

Clint snorted. “I already found someone who makes me happy,” he said. “Scratching an itch was all I needed. Jack’s a good guy, we’re friends. He’s got a wife who knows all about it and doesn’t give a fuck, because they actually fucking talk about shit in their relationship, and don’t just make decisions for each other and then disappear off the face of the fucking planet.”

“You knew where I was going,” said Bucky.

“Yeah!” said Clint, finally showing some of the anger Bucky had been expecting when he’d first seen him. “I’d known for months! Longer! I always knew you were gonna join up. Did it ever seem like I had any kinda problem with it? It was what you wanted and I wanted you to be happy. I still fucking want you to be happy, asshole, so would you just be fucking clear with me? Are you gonna be happier with me in or out of your life? And don’t go telling me what you think is better for me, I can make my own fucking judgements about what I want, thanks. What do _you_ want?”

Bucky hesitated. Fuck, what did he want?

Except he knew the answer to that. He’d always known that, even when he’d been writing that letter, stomach twisting as he tried to pretend he wasn’t taking the coward’s way out.

He met Clint’s eyes. This guy had spent four years waiting for him, without any hope that there’d be a reason for it. Maybe it was time to pull himself together and try to be the guy who’d deserve that level of devotion.

“You,” he admitted in a rough voice. “I want you. I’ve pretty much always wanted you.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” said Clint, and stepped into Bucky’s arms as easily as if it were still four years ago, kissing him with a desperation that it barely took Bucky a second to return.

God, he’d missed this. He’d missed Clint so much, for every fucking second of the four years they’d been apart. Kissing him again felt like a part of himself had clicked back into place and he was finally whole again.

“It was a shitty thing to do,” he admitted, once they’d separated enough for him to speak. “I just...Clint. I didn’t want you to be alone.”

“I wasn’t alone,” said Clint. “I’ve got Natasha, got Kate, got my dog. Got that photo of you. I was never alone, but I fucking missed you.” 

“I missed you too,” admitted Bucky, then frowned. “What dog?”

Clint’s face lit up. “Oh, you’re going to fucking love him,” he promised, then kissed Bucky again, arms looping around his waist to hold him tight.


End file.
